


the less i know (the better)

by kovu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Flashbacks, Gellert Grindelwald Disguised As Percival Graves, M/M, Smitten Percival Graves, Unhealthy Relationships (Regarding Grindelwald + Credence)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kovu/pseuds/kovu
Summary: The absolute worst part of it all is that Percival witnesses everything – Seraphina’s sheer obliviousness, the nonchalance his subordinates have around the impostor, and every hurt look Credence quietly sends him.(Or, the AU where Credence and Percival are a happily mated couple, and then Grindelwald shows up.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> jk rowling: grindelwald didn’t use a polyjuice potion to disguise himself as graves  
> me, putting on shades: i can’t read suddenly. i don’t know.

From where he’s laying on the grimy cot, it takes him a few seconds for his muddled conscious to notice there’s suddenly another being in the frigid room, their presence announced with a loud bang from the heavily warded door, the sound scraping like rusty nails against Percival’s skull.

“You –” Grindelwald barges through, pointing an accusing finger at him, voice like ice. “Did not mention being mated.”

Percival snorts, staring dejectedly at a stray crack on the cemented wall; Grindelwald spits out the word _mated_ as if it was some unforgivable affliction.

Although the sudden motion sends another blast of searing pain through his head, he grits his teeth and manages to force himself up into a seated position, not wanting to appear any more weaker than he already does in front of this bastard.

“I didn’t? Ah, well, I don’t recall voluntarily mentioning _anything,_ ” Percival says, the grumbled words feeling heavy on his parched tongue, further reflecting his exhaustion. “If I remember correctly, you trifled through my memories after I refused to tell you anything of value...on the other hand, these marvelous drugs you’re pumping through me do make my brain a little foggy, so perhaps I’m mistaken.”

When Grindelwald’s scathing glare doesn’t lessen, Percival simply heaves his shoulders up into a loose shrug. “It’s not my fault you didn’t feel the need to scavenge through the more...personal boundaries of my mind.”

“I could easily solve this problem by killing him.” The comment, spoken with such indifference, causes Percival to reel back in shock, the threat instantly sobering him.

He tried – Merlin, he tried _desperately_ to quell the rush of white hot anger that flared up his spine, (lest Grindelwald saw how severely the words affected him and used the knowledge to further torment Percival or his mate) but when an image of Credence’s smiling face flashed across his mind, he was left incapable of tempering his simmering rage.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch him.” Lips pulled back into a snarl, he practically bares his teeth, though the aggressive display seems to irritate Grindelwald more than frighten him, if the tight purse of his own lips was any indicator.

“Are you really in any sort of position to be making such harsh demands, Graves?” Grindelwald regards him, pointedly eyeing the lichtenberg-like burn mark marring his forearm, and then makes a lazy hand-motion to the room they’re crowded in – the unforgiving room Percival is evidently trapped in.

The reality of his situation smacks him the face, the stark reminder of his unfortunate circumstances settling low in his stomach like a stone. He’s stuck here, body drugged and vulnerable, and no amount of profanities spewed or teeth barring will change that or keep his lover safe.

“Credence visits the headquarters every Friday to share lunch with me, my staff will notice if he suddenly stops,” Percival says, after urgently racking his brain for any excuse that will prevent Grindelwald from laying an unctuous finger on the omega.

“Who said anything about his death being a secret? I could make his demise look like a freak accident, turn the great Percival Graves into a grieving alpha who’s lost his beloved omega,” Percival’s jaw clenched at the lack of emotion in Grindelwald’s tone – the man voices his plans like he’s thinking of sprucing up his hairdo, or rearranging his apartment, when in actuality he’s discussing the idea of murdering _Credence._ “I’d dare say it may even be beneficial; if I ever slip up on masquerading your _shining_ personality, people will simply write off my behavior as me just mourning.”

He could practically see the immoral thoughts churning in Grindelwald’s head, the idea of killing Credence becoming more and more appealing to him, and Percival felt his own chest tightening with anxiety, as if an occamy was constricting around it.

“My Aurors gossip, Grindelwald. Even if they do just write it off as erratic behavior, people will still watch the actions of an alpha who just lost their mate far more closely than one who hasn’t – _especially_ the Madam President. With all that attention, do you think you’ll be able to slip under the radar if you do anything even remotely suspicious?”

About two years ago, there was a disturbance in the department where a beta lost someone who was not only their work partner, but also their mate. The ambiance around the office pool was stifling, to say the least. Nonetheless, co-workers still offered Emilia Critchlowe unwavering emotional support in the wake of her devastation.

(A little _too much_ support, it seemed, as Critchlow had snapped at someone one day after being asked for the 5th time that afternoon if she was doing alright. _“No, I’m not doing alright, Shannon! Why the hell would I be?!”_ )

Despite his reputation of being a hard-ass, he likes to think that if a similar tragedy were to befall upon him, his subordinates would care enough about his emotional well-being to keep a vigilant eye on him in concern, like they did for Critchlow, to make certain he doesn’t do anything harmful to himself out of grief.

...But he’s also keenly aware that Critchlow is actually well-liked around the department, while Percival Graves is known as the asshole boss who docks pays from Aurors who show up even one minute late to work. Any watchful eyes that surveillance him will mostly be out of curiosity, simply because people are known to get off on a good tragedy.

Either way, curious or concerned gazes don’t particularly work in Grindelwald’s favor.

A heavy silence stretches between them, nearly oppressive, but Grindelwald seems to be weighing in his words, so Percival decides to throw in one more hasty plea. “Credence has no involvement with the MACUSA, I don’t know why you would even consider him a problem in the first place...leave him be.”

He avoids looking at Grindelwald’s hard expression, not as a show of subservience, but because of how downright disorienting it is to have your own face staring right back at you so callously. From the corner of his eye, he can see Grindelwald hold his hands up in mock surrender, the sigh he releases sounding very much put-out. “The nuisance lives, I suppose.”

Exhaling a shuddering breath, a surge of relief swept over his skin like a crashing wave at the declaration. _He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe_ – the unwavering pressure of fear, pressing down on his chest since the threat on Credence’s life was first spoken, doesn’t even have time to unfold, because his posture immediately goes rigid when he notices Grindelwald is walking towards him with vague intent.

No pain comes, and Percival gradually loosens up when a pair of glinting scissors come into view, a memory of the hair stolen from him nearly a month ago brushing across his mind.

Constantly analyzing ways he could escape since his kidnapping, Percival calculates the chances of himself surviving if he makes an attempt to wrestle the sharp object out of Grindelwald’s grasp, but quickly reasons that he can’t even stand up without the room spinning; the endeavor will likely just leave him downing in a crimson pool of his own blood with a sliced throat.

“Honestly, why you would choose a _squib_ to be mated with is beyond my comprehension. Surely, with the pedigree behind the Graves name, you must have been flooded with much better options?” Grindelwald says, his wandless magic snipping away strands of Percival’s coarse hair for future use, before continuing his snide remarks. “Your ancestors are certainly rolling in their coffins, I’d wager.”

Percival does not correct his false assumption of Credence’s magical status; the man will discover the truth in a matter of minutes anyway when he executes another memory extraction spell on his captive.

He imagines – if they were somehow miraculously still alive – the outright fit his parents would have had if they found out their only heir was bonded to someone without a penny to their name. _“A gutter-rat? Really, Percy? If this is your way of performing a teenage rebellion, I’d say you’re about thirty years too late, son,”_ His father would likely say, while his mother would probably steer her disdain towards Credence directly, throwing sneering barbs at the boy in hopes of sending him running.

That’s not to say that disapproval from family members would have stopped him from mating Credence, regardless of the young man’s lack of titles or he was a squib or not.

Last spring, when they were still somewhat in the honeymoon phase of their mating, Percival decided to take time off work and whisk Credence away to his family’s personal estate.

The manor was entirely unoccupied, save for the presence of house-elves and enchanted portraits of deceased individuals. The emptiness itself wasn’t a surprise; the Graves bloodline is powerful and highly-decorated, but a small lineage nonetheless. It’s an unfortunate fact that most Graves are groomed into becoming Aurors; a grueling line of work that doesn’t promise a life long-lived. Not many Aurors die naturally from old age – Percival’s own parents certainly didn’t.

Because of the glaring absence of other human beings, he was somewhat hesitance to bring his partner to the hushed estate. (Credence isn’t a social butterfly by any stretch, but Percival has come to learn that, unlike himself, the younger man doesn’t relish in quiet atmospheres; the resonating silences reminding him too much of the unbearable days living with his loathsome mother. It’s why there’s always a radio or music playing softly in the background of their shared apartment, to make up for lack of exhilaration in Percival’s own social life.)

But much to Percival’s surprise, Credence seemed to immensely enjoy the manor, his appreciation stemming more from learning about the environment Percival grew up in rather than the quietude.

 _“See that dent in the wall? Flying accident. I wanted to be able to show off in Ilvermorny, so ten year old me stole my mother’s broom and tried to give myself early flying lessons. It ended as well as you’d expect.”_ He had thrown an exaggerated pout towards Credence when the other had laughed at Percival’s past misfortune. Eyes twinkling with mirth, Credence had titled his head and kissed Percival’s cheek in apology.

They were supposed to visit the estate again when Percival returned from Europe.

With a deep pang in his chest, he realizes he can smell a hint of Credence’s scent on Grindelwald’s outfit, likely from the poor encounter the two had; an encounter that Percival had observed earlier that day, right in this very cot he was presently bedridden on.

Even if it was painstakingly minuscule, the second-hand aroma still manages to overwhelm his olfactory senses as he breathes in the delight. Oh, how badly he wanted to lean closer towards the scent to soak up and bask in it’s sweetness, but unfortunately such an action would’ve also caused him to be closer to his despicable captor. He fists his hands into the cot with dire frustration, wishing Grindelwald would hurry this _lovely get-together_ along.

However, dark brows furrow with confusion when Grindelwald makes no move to perform any magic on him, the man seemingly satisfied with his takings and making his way towards the chamber door.

“Aren’t you going to...?” Percival questions, making a hand-gesture towards his head when Grindelwald halts in his exiting and gives him a narrow-eyed stare.

He squints at him with blatant perplexity before an almost pained look crosses his face at the realization of what Percival is asking. “I have utterly no interest in knowing about your sex life, Mr. Graves.”

* * *

_Looking back at it, he probably should’ve found a better place and time to break the news – maybe over a dinner at that swanky Italian restaurant Credence seems to like, a modest place where they’d both be clear-headed. That certainly would have been a more sensible thing to do, what a rational alpha would do. Instead, Percival throws all sensibility out the window and reveals his upcoming trip in the midst of foreplay, while he’s seated between Credence’s soft thighs and trailing feather-light kisses down the omega’s bare stomach._

_Beforehand, he had felt rather smug when he saw how Credence fingers had twitched with barely-there restraint, the younger man probably wanting to grip Percival’s hair and direct him to exactly /where/ he wanted the lavish kisses to land, but unfortunately that’s around the time when Credence’s lust seemed to diminish and was quickly replaced by hurt surprise._

_“It’s only for a few weeks – a month, at most,” Percival says, as if a month was nothing, as if not a thing could go wrong in that time-span, when they both know that could be the farthest from the truth._

_In spite of the scowl on his face, Credence still reaches over to gently brush a loose strand of Percival’s hair off his brow, out of plain habit. Percival captures the retreating palm and plants a tender kiss on it._

_“I still don’t see why I can’t come with you,” Credence replies, his eyes veering off to the side, his avoidance of Percival’s gaze a tell-tale sign of him being upset. “Is it dangerous? I can protect myself, you know.”_

_After the Obscurus incident, Percival has never once doubted Credence’s power, seeing first-hand the destruction he had wreaked._

_Credence has been practicing his skills for nearly a year, but over a decade of suppression has made his magic a flighty, unpredictable thing. Some days he can harness it without thought, other days he can’t even conjure up a simple charm. It’s definitely a work in progress, but Percival knows Credence will surpass this struggle one day, and when he does, his abilities will outshine even Percival’s._

_“I know you can, that’s not the reason though.” Percival purposely leaves the former question unanswered; even he himself doesn’t know how serious the mission will be. “I’ll be out in the field for most of it – I just don’t want you holed up in some hotel room all day, waiting for me to return.”_

_If taken along, Credence would be able to freely leave the hotel room to sightsee, or course, but they both knew he wouldn’t, the unfamiliarity of it all hindering him. Credence knows the streets of New York like the back of his hand, so he exhibits absolutely no apprehension about weaving through them alone. The same can not be said about any part of Europe._

_At least here, he won’t be in want of some friendly company or be bored out of his mind. Going by the way his narrow shoulders slump in clear resignation, Credence grasps this too._

_“It’d also be rude of me to leave Mrs. Copplestone without an assistant on such sort notice, wouldn’t it?” Credence says, picking at a loose thread from their bed, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. Percival smiles sympathetically, leaning down to nuzzle at the junction of the omega’s neck in comfort._

_“When I come home, how about we plan another trip to Long Island?”_

_“I’d like that,” Credence answers, and the softness in his expression is enough to still render Percival completely tongue-tied, even after all this time._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please take a look at the additional tags i’ve added. while i can confirm there will be absolutely no sex between grindelwald/credence, i’m still slapping that dubious consent tag on this because any affection credence gives grindel!graves is done under the impression that the dude is actually his significant other, and ya know, not some guy who’s holding his actual lover captive while disguised as him.

_“My dearest Credence –” Percival visibly startles at the playful voice over his shoulder, then hurriedly slaps a palm over the private letter, hidden from any prying eyes. Cheeks stained pink, he shoots a glare at the laughing Auror._

_“Fuck off, Scamander.” He has half a mind to throw a jinx at the other for his snooping, along with a reprimand for his (and Diaz’s) discourtesy – apparating /inside/ of Percival’s hotel room rather than outside it’s door, for Merlin’s sake – but he swallowed the criticism that harbored behind his lips. They’d just shrug it off._

_“You know, Newton gave me word of your mating, but my ears simply couldn’t believe the news,” Theseus says, unwrapping a candy (one of those soft caramel covered sweets that Percival finds positively disgusting) and then popping it into his mouth. Tilting his head, he chews thoughtfully. “Philanderer Percival Graves got himself hitched, they say? No. Preposterous.”_

_“Pretty sure you have to manage to get laid every once in a while to be considered a philanderer,” Diaz says from the corner, snarky as always. She raises a challenging eyebrow when he shifts his glare from Theseus to her._

_He bites the inside of his cheek to subdue the urge to rise to the bait, knowing full well trading insults with Diaz never ends well with him. Instead, Percival levels the most deadpan stare he can muster at her, because the only thing he’ll get out of that showdown is a bruised ego._

_So familiar with being the top dog around the MACUSA headquarters – where his Aurors would ask 'how high' if he told them jump – the pure indifference the British Aurors regard him with here is a thoroughly new experience. He has yet to decide if the behavior was refreshing or annoying._

_Whenever he’s in the company of Theseus or Diaz, it starts to heavily lean towards the latter._

_“Any updates on Grindelwald?” Percival asks. He tucks the letter away, making a mental note to complete it before bed._

_When The Ministry of Magic first requested assistance from the MACUSA about two weeks, they were practically nipping at Grindelwald’s heels in their quest to apprehend him. Although it was rather self-serving, that piece of information was really the only reason Seraphina agreed to send Percival. With Grindelwald’s seizure so close, the MACUSA wouldn’t be wasting too much resources into helping, but they'd still be able to claim they took part in capturing the Dark Wizard._

_Of course, because the universe seems to love him, The Ministry manages to loose tail of the wanted man as soon as Percival arrives to Europe._

_Theseus immediately straightens, all merriment gone, the war-hero in him surfacing. “No actual sightings of him so far, but we keep hearing of rumors about his fanatics roaming around two specific locations. They might lead to something. I reckon you take one location, I take the other?”_

_Percival nods. “Where have they been seen?”_

_“Hogwarts and Hallstatt. There's a particular student of Hogwarts who's the holder of a...family heirloom, an artifact that Grindewald may have his eyes on, which is my guess as to why his followers are meddling around the school.”_

_Or maybe, Percival considers, they’re scouting for new followers to add to their overzealous cause. They’d likely target students that are in their seventh and final year – fresh minds on the cusp of adulthood. Old enough to not be completely useless, but still young enough for manipulation to come easy._

_“Any theories on why they would be around Hallstatt?” Diaz asks._

_Theseus shakes his head, his small tight red curls swaying with the motion. “Not the faintest clue. It’s not a very populated region – with Wizards or muggles. Perhaps that’s why?” He mumbled the last part absently, half to himself._

_He absorbs the information, though he couldn’t really give his two cents about it because the location was completely foreign to him. “Where the hell even is Hallstatt?”_

_“Upper Austria, near the Dachstein mountains,” Theseus paused, likely seeing the blankness in Percival’s expression. “Would you like to take Hogwarts?”_

_He nearly shudders at the thought. “Hell no, give me Hallstatt.”_

_Theseus nodded, the wry quirk of his lips suggesting he detected Percival’s thrill of alarm. “Alright, I’ll round up a team of my finest Aurors and you all can head out to Austria tomorrow. I’ll make sure to include someone who’s acquainted with the area.”_

_Percival pointedly eyed the hearth where a fire was crackling, and Diaz acknowledged the unspoken dismissal with a mock salute of farewell. He sighed internally when Theseus didn’t follow in tow, and mentally prepared himself for another hour of unwanted socialization._

_He had intended for an early night’s rest – so much for that._

_“So,” Theseus says, all traces of his previous seriousness replaced by his usual buoyant disposition. He throws an arm over Percival’s shoulder. “When do you plan to introduce me to the fellow?”_

_Although Credence isn’t mentioned explicitly by name, it doesn’t take a mastermind to figure out who Theseus was referring to. Percival huffs and shrugs the offending limb off. “Never, I quite like the gigantic ocean between you two.”_

* * *

When he first caught sight of the enchanted mirror, hanging on the wall adjacent to his cot, he thought the images he saw playing within it were his own memories. However, that theory started to fall through the cracks when he heard tidbits of a conversation that he doesn’t recall having with Seraphina.

Maybe he could’ve blamed the lapse of memory on the constant sedatives he’s been forcefully given, but there was a nagging whisper in the back of his mind that kept hinting otherwise.

It wasn’t until he saw a glimpse of a hidden necklace bearing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows – an item that, even under the influence of some potent drugs, he can one-hundred percent confirm he has never been in the possession of – that he realizes these aren’t in fact his memories, but actually real-time visualization of Grindelwald going about his day, disguised as Percival.

His blood had chilled in his veins at the realization and the mirror stared back at him mockingly.

The question as to why Grindelwald would leave such an object still remains unanswered. Maybe to rub salt in the wounds? To show how effortless it was to take over his life, and how he holds everything Percival has built for himself in the palm of his greedy hands? _See how easy it is to deceive your co-workers and companions, and how they can’t even differentiate you from a madman? See how powerless and susceptible you are to stop it?_

Feeling his oily hair hanging limp across his forehead, and over a month’s worth of not shaving evident on his normally clean shaven face, maybe it’s a blessing that he can’t see his reflection. Maybe it’s blessing that he was unable to see the haggard circles that rested under his eyes, how sunken his cheeks have become, and how he was but a wraith of his former self.

(He tried facial hair once, even used magic to advanced past the awkward stages of growing it out. He was left with something that was far past morning stubble, but not quite long enough to be considered a full-blown beard. Reception was mixed; Seraphina didn’t mince her words and said the ’face fungus’ made him appear ’dirty and disheveled’, but Credence seemed to like how it looked, so he refused to get rid of it.

Like _may_ have been a loose term – Credence basically climbed him like a tree the first time he saw the new scruff.

Facial hair itched like hell though, so thankfully the new feature only lasted about two weeks. He didn’t shave it off until Credence guilty admitted that while he definitely enjoyed how strong and rugged the beard made him look, he wasn’t fond of how the scratch of stubble felt against his bare thighs.)

He wanted to smash a fist through the mirror, shattering the falsehood appearing within it; a special fuck you to Grindelwald’s gift...but then he would be completely left in the dark about what was occurring beyond these four walls, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of such blindness.

So instead of taking his ire out on the enchanted item, he decided to take advantage of the situation and be a fly on the wall, observing Grindelwald’s activities in hopes that maybe he’ll catch sight of anything that hints towards what the man’s exact motives are.

Of course, he knows Grindelwald’s main goal is to reveal the hidden magical community to the No-Majs, but he’s mystified as to why his captor needs to disguise himself as Percival Graves to do so. Thinking is the only thing he can do in this hellhole, so he’s had plenty of time to ponder about it, but every time he came up with an answer that sounded somewhat reasonable, there was always some variable in the explanation that shot it down.

The mirror could prove very useful – if he could manage to stay awake, that is.

It’s difficult to fight the exhaustion that constantly creeps over him, and the mind-numbing drugs don’t help. Although the biting cold that nipped at his skin helped push back the feeling, he would find himself constantly jerking awake throughout the day after his eyelids drooped closed on their own accord.

He could feel it now, the tendrils of darkness that were slowly crawling over his consciousness, beckoning sweetly to him to just let slumber claim his body. Only for a moment, he reassured himself, closing his heavy lids.

He was just about to let deep sleep take him when the sound of Credence’s voice greeted his ears, filtering through the mirror. _That_ instantly awakens him, eyes snapping open with alarming speed.

Breath held, he prays that it’s just his mind playing heinous tricks on him, because being in the mirror means being around Grindelwald, and he can’t bear the idea of Credence being alone in a room with that man and his deceitful ways. He can hear his pounding heart thrumming through his ears as panic plants its deepest roots into his being, twisting around him until he was completely shrouded within in.

His prayers went unheard.

“Percival?” Credence says, the hesitance in his voice as clear as day, which wasn’t at all unjustifiable. The last time he saw _his mate_ , the alpha had taken one long look at him and then abruptly, without a single word, turned around and slammed the apartment door behind him.

Fleeing to go give the actual Percival Graves a scolding for his lack of disclosure about the omega.

A stab of warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight of Credence, the magnificent longed-for feeling ambushing him and leaving him utterly helpless. He wants to grab Credence’s face in his hands and pepper it with endless kisses, to make up for the entire month he was unable to do so. Overcome with yearning, he momentarily neglects to remember where he is, and when he reaches out a shaky hand towards Credence, he’s harshly broken from his illusion when fingers meet glass.

He blinks, trying to rid himself of the betraying sting in his eyes.

“I apologize for earlier, darling,” Grindelwald says, and Percival grimaces. Grandma Dottie used to call Percival _darling_ , pinching his cheeks til they colored red, cooing on about how he grows bigger each time she sees him – he’s never _once_ used that pet-name for Credence.“I forgot something at the headquarters, you see, and it was quite urgent.”

Credence gives him something akin to a bewildered look. Percival wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth away the tiny frown line forming between his brows. “Urgent enough that you couldn’t be bothered to greet me after a month of being away?”

Grindelwald nods solemnly. “Very, _very_ urgent.” Credence looks like he’s about to persist, maybe ask _what_ was so urgent, but Grindelwald picks up on this and quickly steers the conversation.

“I’ve missed you, my boy.” Grindelwald says, feigning a gentle smile that churns Percival’s stomach. Credence’s face softens, more at the sentiment rather than the endearment, and allows the other to bridge the gap between them and pull him into a tight embrace.

His skin crawls at the picture the two make; whenever he holds Credence, does the embracement always look this loveless?

“I’ve missed you as well.” A nose brushed along the line of Grindelwald’s jaw, inhaling his scent with a tiny shiver. “You had me worried when I stopped receiving letters from you...Tina tried her best to reassure me that you were alright, but I couldn’t be so sure.” Credence burrows his face into Grindelwald’s shoulder, either overwhelmed by the alpha’s scent or his own emotions.

No comforting utterances were offered, but the arms looped around Credence’s waist squeezed tighter in reassurance, the doting action quite the contrast to the cold blankness etched onto Grindelwald’s face – a far opposite to the the warmhearted one Credence possessed, who was unable to see how Grindelwald’s expression was entirely void of emotion from where his own head was buried.

“Your scent’s fainter,” Credence notes, worriment touching his tone.

“Stress can do that to you,” Grindelwald replies, promptly enough that Percival can’t tell if the man was prepared to have his scent questioned, or he’s that good of a deceiver that he can make up lies on the spot that quick; both scenarios were highly characteristic of him.

Credence lifts his head and sweeps his eyes across Grindelwald’s (stolen) face, still radiating concern. His gaze lingers on Grindelwald’s mouth, and Percival is familiar enough with that look to know that Credence is about to press his lips against the impostor’s, a kiss that softly conveys _I’m here for you._

Luckily, Percival is saved from bashing his head against a wall in sheer frustration by none other than Grindelwald, who withdraws from their embrace and immediately makes a beeline towards Percival’s home office, barely avoiding the affection.

Leaving Credence to stare wide eyed at his retreating figure, looking more perplexed than upset. He shakes his head and trails after him. “I’m sorry about the trip.”

Grindelwald was found stretched over Percival’s personal desk, trifling through the assortment of work-related files within the drawers of the hardwood table. Credence’s remark makes him lift his head from his cryptic snooping. “The mission was a failure, and honestly, I’d rather we not talk about it at all.”

“Are you alright, at least? Tina didn’t tell me about the battle you were in until this morning. How are you holding up?” The question is met with an uncomfortable silence. Wringing his hands, Credence hastily veils his unease with an encouraging smile. “Was Europe nice? Or how about meeting up with that old friend of yours?”

 _Europe was lonesome and I hated sleeping in a bed that didn’t have you in it,_ Percival would have said, _And I was reminded that Scamander is just as annoying as his little brother._

Grindelwald says nothing of that sort.

“Credence.” Just one word, but the warning within it was clear. Percival wasn’t even actually present, but he could still feel the flinch-worthy stillness that settled over the room like a blanket in response to the tone, sharper than any Cruciatus Curse.

Credence stills instantly, held frozen by the detachment of the alpha’s voice and penetrating gaze. He appeared more confused than fearful, reflected by the corners of his mouth tugging down into a frown, and Percival briefly wonders if he’s a selfish individual for taking some relief in that; the confusion instead of fear. Confusion, anger, annoyance – Percival could handle those emotions, but it pulled at his heartstrings to picture Credence being afraid of his _mate_.

“Right,” Credence says quietly with downcast eyes, crossing his slight arms over his chest. “Sorry.”

When the omega made no move to leave, Grindelwald doled out an annoyed sigh. “Was there something you needed, Credence?”

“I...” Credence gives him a skeptical stare, his expression patently saying _is this really happening right now?_

“If not, please close the door on your way out. I’m quite busy.” He makes a shooing gesture, dismissing him without a second glance.

On the other side of the mirror, currently in a secured chamber located Merlin-knows-where, Percival grinds his teeth. His clenched hand itched, urging him to punch the glass, shatter it until he could no longer hear the tainted honeyed words that dripped from deceiving lips or see the image of Credence’s frowning face.

He didn’t think it was possible to feel so nauseous and relieved at the same time, but that’s exactly what he experienced when he heard the soft click of the den’s door shutting closed.


End file.
